HOME | DD

Description
On days like this, the wind will rasp like a parched patron
And the walls of the cafes of Little Italy will sweat
With beads following the grain of the maple down to the
Almost-cool tile of the floor

She couldn't have noticed me:
Her body, a series of ageless curves,
Was preoccupied down to her shoes (which were strappy black love-me's with heels like mesas)
And I remember, as would a photograph, how her lips were curved around
The seductive shape of a cured heart, and if to say,
"You."
Wrapped around freckled red, with glossy satin maroon doubling effects from
The sunlight in the window, you could
Catch the hint of
Pearls, sheens of freshwater, wink behind those lips before
Sinking, disappearing, in seeded skin

I lost myself in dirty dreams,
An anticipation of what was yet to come,
Whether it was myself
Or her hand grasping for more delights
To tantalise the tastebuds of she
And the fantasies of everybody who surrounded her
All of our heartbeats in unison
In Little Italy

I couldn't help but be nothing less than entranced
As the strawberry's slow dance continued
Past the perfect housing of her lips;
A trail of almost-red juice
Started a slow journey from
(almost) the corner of her mouth towards her chin
To leave a sticky sweet legacy for her
Tongue to catch later

That strawberry could have been me
Or at the very least it should have been
A man, flesh and bone with no fruit, leaving a look of dissatisfaction
Scribbled across her face,
As the last bite was the taste
That only just got her started
To displace her grace
And replace this princess with nothing more than an
Eve in a garden of serpents

On days like this, the world begs for sin
But bedroom fantasies fell behind
A cafe in mid-July, and a girl
Eating a
Strawberry